


Without you

by vermicious_knid



Series: The world turned over [4]
Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermicious_knid/pseuds/vermicious_knid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is a trick that cannot last for very long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without you

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this? I hated this idea at first but then it wouldn’t leave me alone for even a minute. 
> 
> Ugh, whatever.

 

 

The road looked the same on the way back as it did when he first started out on his journey. The seasons had come and passed since then, and now, where the trees had been barren only a short month ago – were now waking up to spring.

 

Had he really been gone for six months already? It didn’t _seem_ that long.

 

But he did look forward to returning to his mistress – oh yes indeed. Looking forward to her usual scoldings for being gone for so long, for Maria, the silly little maid, to pretend not to be happy to see him as she blushed and tittered, swatting his shoulder.

 

Damn, he really hoped that Malvolio would be out of the picture by now – that old croon may have been a hoot to mess around with, but he really was such a weasel. If Olivia hadn’t already fired him, he would make sure that the man left by his own accord.

 

After all, he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.

 

Kicking at a stray rock that was in his path on the dirt road, his mind wandered to the others in Illyria. The drunken Tobias was sure to be located at the tavern, which incidentally would be the first place he’d seek out upon arrival. It had been two days since his last meal, and he wasn’t exactly keen on eating another skinned squirrel.

 

It wasn’t unusual for the fool to disappear for months on end like this, and it wouldn’t be the last. Point in fact, many of his kind took it upon themselves to wander once their attention drifted and they felt like they needed a change of scenery, new inspiration for their little acts and flights of fancy. He had never really had a permanent home, or really felt like he wanted to stay somewhere without getting that itch in his limbs to fly away, somwhere else.

 

Finding food and shelter on his journey was never really a problem. If he couldn’t charm, or sing his way to a snack – then he’d just find a way to steal it.As for shelter, he’d either sleep under a tree or climb up and sleep in the attic of an old barn.

 

He saw a dove fly by and dive into the trees, and his thoughts went to the one person he hadn’t allowed himself to think about properly yet. Ah.

 

Orsinos new insipid little wife. Viola.

 

He almost stopped on the dirt path when he recalled their last encounter. What she had told him.

 

But then he continued. Really, to get so worked up about a young girl? Nonsense. Sure, he liked her quick and clever mind and her boldness at masquerading as a man – anyone could respect a schemer like that.

 

And she was beautiful. That much was certainly true.

* * *

 

 

He didn’t think much of it when, one late midsummer evening, punchdrunk, she had leaned over and kissed him. And he still didn’t mind when she climbed into his lap, nimble hands on his bony shoulders and her lips travelling down his neck as his rough hands went to her hips, and down further still…

 

It wasn’t uncommon to have lovers even if you were married. And if the rumours were to be believed, the marriage bed between the duke and his new wife were lacking in affection.

 

So, he didn’t mind submitting to it. It wouldn’t be the first time a lady of the court dragged him into bed – all of it in secret, between the early hours of dawn or in the middle of the day, when the husband would be out of the way. And like he’d said – she was beautiful. Seducing her had been on his mind for months.

 

But unlike the other ladies of her ilk, she was always so... responsive. She never swatted his hand away if he came too close in public, asked him to stop when he pulled her aside in a hidden alcove and dragged his hands up her skirt. She never said no – and it confused him.

 

 _Sex with the duke must be extremely poor_ , he figured, if she was this desperate for affection.

 

Once, after, he tried to give her advice.

 

But as he tried explaining to her what a man liked, he found himself trying to imagine what it was about Viola that was not appealing. Even then, sweaty all over and short hair messy beyond reason, flushed and half-sleepy, she couldn’t be more perfect if she tried.

* * *

 

They had never done anything outside the castle walls before that night, when she came by to his temporary home above the tavern. It was basically a hovel with a tiny window and a matress on the floor. Not exactly the sort of romantic, lush enviroment she must have been used to.

 

He had not been surprised to see her, but he was surprised of the fact that she was stark naked under the maroon cloak she’d been wearing. It must have been showing on his face, because she burst into giggles and pointed at him like she’d won something. He was not blushing, _he wasn’t._

 

The only way to get some of his pride back was to bed the girl again. Besides, she had deserved a reward for doing that. It had been a definite highlight of his day.

 

 

Suprisingly, nobody except Maria ever found out about their trysts. Not that it mattered much to him, it was always the woman who got the blame if an affair was exposed.

 

And he’d challenged her secrecy. It had been fun to put those hickeys on her body, all of them in compromising places. But damn it all if she didn’t manage to cover up each and every one flawlessly. Even when he’d compromised her thouroguly only an hour before a royal dinner, she still reappeared at the festivietes like some damn virignal saint, looking untainted and lovely as ever. Something about this had made him sulky. Which she’d noticed, of course.

 

She had become alarmingly adept at noticing the shifts in his moods.

 

”Maybe you’ll be more successful, next time.” she’d murmured to him, offering a casual shrug while her eyes had fixed him with amusment, _a challenge._

 

Later that night, he’d lunged himself upon her while she was making tea in the kitchen. Moonlight spilling in from the gilted windows, marring her pale breasts and coating them with ivory light as he bit into them while she cried, head thrown back against the wall.

 

Let her scream then.

* * *

 

 

These were all good memories. It had been an entertaining pasttime.

 

Then she’d made the mistake he suspected she would make. He’d noticed that she had begun to cling to him during the nights when he slept beside her. When they kissed, she pressed herself close, her touch more insistant.

 

Not only that. When they weren’t otherwise occupied with the usual, she would look at him in a certain way. Not an obvious stare, just these little quick, darting glances.

 

He caught her looking at herself in mirrors, trying to pull her boyish hair up, then down. Huffing and frowning at herself, then blushing when she realized that she had been caught.

 

”Trying a new look?” he’d asked.

 

”You think I should grow it out?” she’d smiled, eyes narrowing slyly.

 

”It’s up to you, my lady. Not my concern, one way or the other.”

 

He had always been careful not to go beyond what they already had. What they could ever have. But it would seem that his girl, his dove of a duchess – had somehow missed these unspoken rules. How irritating.

 

”My opinion does not matter.” he’d told her in his usual sing-song voice, drumming his fingers against her naked shoulders. Without looking, he already knew how many freckles were gathered there – had counted them with the tip of his tounge. She had sighed and turned her head back to face him, her eyes a little black, much too serious for his liking.

”But it matters to me.”

Now why would she say that? Other than saying that she was perhaps more of a fool than he was? He settled for patting her hair consolingly, perhaps a bit condecending and that was that.

Then for a while, things had progressed as normal. He was relieved, thinking that she had let go of whatever silly notion she’d kept. But of course, he had underestimated her again.

* * *

 

It had been in the middle of january. It had been much to cold to do anything but stay indoors, which was why she had taken up residency in his tiny apartment above the tavern, nestled up in blankets and sitting in front of a fire as he strummed his guitar beside her, never really playing it but entertaining the idea of it. It had been a slow week, and the duke had been kept busy trying to solve a conflict that regarded the fishermen’s and merchants pay, and if it should be doubled due to the extreme weather.

”We need our fish, and our bread.” Viola had murmured, voice muffled under a mountain of blankets.

He’d stopped fiddling to stare at her for a second. Only bits of her hair peeked out, her bare feet occationally coming out to take in the warmth of the small fire. It wasn’t cute, it wasn’t.

”Why stay here in with me, when you can warm yourself properly in the castle?” he asked instead, cocking his head at her. If possible, she sunk deeper into her nest of blankets, and he was distinctly aware that this question embarrassed her.

”You’re much better company. Besides, the castle walls are icy cold. Whenever I touch them, I think I will catch a cold.”

Why did she always seem to know just what to say to make him want to touch her? It seemed that whatever came out of her mouth these days made him want to do that – but this he couldn’t quite admit to himself.

But a naked girl swaddled in blankets, saying that she was cold? Now that, he could excuse.

* * *

 

”I think..I think I love you.”

So there it was. She had proven herself nothing like the woman he imagine her to be. She was just like all the others. She didn't understand the game. 

This time, they hadn’t even taken off their clothes. Well technically -they were still in their night clothes. She had said it once before, during the act – but he’d just written it off as something said at the height of passion, something that didn’t mean anything.

But now it was said in the harsh light of day. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was sticking up, and he wasn’t even charming.

He tried to do the same now as he had before, ignoring it. He continued to fill his mug with water from the pitcher standing next to his bed, draining it slowly. It was quiet in the room for a long time. He refused to anwer her. 

”Did you...did you hear what I said?” she asked, sounding oh so timid. So...afraid.

He felt a small hand at his back, stroking through the shirt. Warmth spreading under his skin. No.

He laughed shortly, and he could see how it hit her like pins and needles. She withdrew from him as if she’d been slapped. Good.

”That’s nice of you to say. Really it is. Now, don’t look so crestfallen- I had actually been expecting something like this.”

She was looking smaller and smaller, standing there still half-naked. Exposed in a way that was sort of humiliating. He wanted her to get dressed quickly and get out. He didn’t like this pitying look.

”What had you expected?” she asked, not looking at him.

He sat himself down beside the hearth and looked at her and faked a sorry sigh.

”You just think you’re in love. It’s cute, actually. I’m afraid you’re just mixing things up.”

Something of her usual confidence got the better of her, and she faced him like the heroine she was - fearless and unyielding. 

”I’m not. I know what I feel. You know I’m not stupid.”

”But you’re everything else, I’m afraid.” he says, shaking his head.

He can tell that she has trouble believing what he is saying. That she expected him to be **good.**

”So, all this time...this has meant nothing to you?”

”Of course not. I’ve enjoyed this. I have enjoyed you...immensely.”

”Stop that. You’re making it sound like it’s all about-”

He doesn’t dare let her continue.

”But it IS all about that. Don’t you see? Haven’t you figured that out yet?” as he says it it sounds like the truth, but his hands are shaking and he has to hide it by grabbing hold of the doorway.” Is that not the goal of our time spent together? We’re both pleased, both sated.” he says, nodding to himself.

She makes a wounded sound that makes him itch. He wants to be done with this now. She's clawing at the space on her chest where her heart is.

”Then how come I...feel _this_. How come I want more?”

”That’s just it. It’s just a trick – there isn’t any more to it. Disappointing isn’t it?”

She stares at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. There’s horror in it, but sadness too. She stares at him for so long that he finally stands up and snipes at her. But she doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even move.

”The fool has given you his tricks, his preformance is over, don’t you think it’s time to leave? ”

She still hasn’t said anything, just continues to stare at him, anger turning her eyes black and her skin paler. Tears are falling down her face. He refuses to do anything about it. She needs to go, because looking at her makes him sick with something he doesnt understand.

”Well, don’t you?!” he asks, not really expecting a response.

With remarkable poise, she goes to put on her clothes and slowly, she exits the room and shuts the door silently behind her.

The fire is out in the hearth and it is bitingly cold.

* * *

 

This is what he remembers about her, as he walks back to the city in the springtime.

Hopefully, she will have gotten over the whole matter by now and gotten a new lover. Someone who can better supstitute the feelings she so craved. Who knows, maybe she is expecting child by now, having other matters to worry about.

He forgets about her as he enters he city gate at sundown, failing to notice the black flags waving by the peak of the gate.

* * *

 

Next morning, he wakes up in his old room above the tavern and gets ready to infiltrate Olivias castle. He hasn’t had a good breakfast in quite awhile, and he has actually come to miss the people who live in it as well.

He is surprised when he walks across the city square, to see it almost completely empty. Strange, considering that it is here where the traders and merchants sell their produce everyday without fail.

 _Perhaps there is a festival that I have missed_ , he considers before continuing his stroll.A child bumps into him, the only person he meets on the way.

The child is the same as any illyrian ilk, clad in elegant autumn orange with red slippers on his feet. He’s carrying a ball and staring up at Feste like he thinks it is very odd to see another person up and about.

Feste barely even glances at the black silk ribbon worn across the boy’s left arm, instead only ruffles his hair before walking onward.

It’s not until he’s inside the castle before he notices something strange. The curtains are all black, and most of them are shut or drawn closed against the sunlight.

He finds Maria in the doorway to the pantry, and she jumps when she sees him. This makes him grin wickedly before he embraces her, asking where Olivia might be this lovely morning.

 

But the answer is not expected. Maria is looking at him, not with her usual broody scolding frown but with confusion. He notices how pale she looks, not so plump.

 

”Where have you been, all this time?” she asks instead, wiping her forehead and looking off into the distance, resolutely not meeting his eyes. As if by doing so, she will be revealing something.

 

”You know me, I go far, far away – but I always return. So tell me, where is my lady? Where is our master?”

 

By now, the old Maria would be huffing and puffing, going about her business while trying to ignore him. But this one doesn’t seem sure of what she’s doing, or what she should say. She looks like she’s contemplating something before she gives him an answer.

 

”She’s...not really well right now.”

 

”Don’t tell me that yet another relative has passed on?”

 

”In a sense, yes. Feste, you were gone for such a long time...”

 

”Yes yes, what does it matter? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

 

”Yes, I suppose you are.”

 

then gathering herself, she walks away, leaving him alone in the marble hallway. Mystified, but not really put off, he vanishes from the servant’s hallway. On his way out, he steals an apple from the kitchens. He’ll find time to visit his mistress tomorrow, when her mood is calmer.

* * *

Later that night, he finds himself at the tavern once more. After a few ales, he gets an offer from one of the patrons to sing them a song.

 

”But of course, any requests?”

 

Usually, people would shout over each other with suggestions by this point – but the tavern is unusually quiet, only a faint murmur of voices circling the patrons.

 

He picks an old favorite, going through the motions and getting lost in the music. That is, until he is interrupted by the bar keeper.

 

He has trudged up to his side, and he looks petrified. He motions for him to stop singing.

 

”Why on earth should I stop? I am bringing you good business, am I not?”

 

”Have you not heard the announcements? There is to be no music during the mourning period.”

 

This bit of news startles him. There must been someone of great importance dead for even music to be tempered and leashed. Smiling, he leans in almost conspiratorically towards the bar keeper.

 

”Tell me then, who is it that we are in mourning of? I should like to know who to blame for this censorship.”

 

The bar keep looks taken aback by this, frowning at the fool as if he truly is his namesake and more.

 

”You must have recently come back to town, if you really do not know.” he says dodgedly.

 

”Tell me, who?”

 

”The duke’s wife. Lady Viola.”

* * *

Saltwater is running down his throat. He doesn’t remember how the night at the tavern ended. He only remembers hitting something, quite hard.

 

Inspecting his raw knuckles in the light of dawn, he can see that they’re bleeding profusely. He must have gotten into a fight. Drunk and foolish, he had been. Typical.

 

Strangely, he doesn’t want to protect the wound or cover it up. He digs his fingernails into it, making it larger, so the blood can flow more freely. This feels like a relief, and he stands up from the gutter where he had been sleeping, in the direction of Olivias castle. He sets off like nothing bad has happened at all.

* * *

 

It’s a repeat performance of yesterday, exactly the same. Except this time, Maria reacts differently when she sees him.

 

”You’ve found out.” she says, looking very sorry.

 

He blinks at her and hides his bleeding knuckles in his shirtsleeves.He blinks once more and he smiles at her. She looks at him in concern. He doesn’t know what she is talking about. There is a faint yellow flame about his eyes that scare her.

 

”Found out what? That the devil is due? Come now Maria, tell me, what news is there of Illyria? Is the Mistress about, I should like to speak to her.”

 

”Feste, she’s..she’s mourning. I told you this already. She doesn’t want to be disturbed...”

 

He doesnt look at her as he critically inspects a cuff of his shirt, as if it’s not clean enough. He nods.

 

”I think I can make it better. Yes. I can make her see the sense of things again.”

 

So he can, still. After all, this has always been his duty towards his mistress. To keep her happy, when she needs it. So he sits with her as she cries for awhile, holding her and telling her to be brave. She doesn’t notice the blood on him or maybe she just doesnt care.

  
All of the curtains are drawn shut in her chambers, and he welcomes the darkness as much as she does, for once.

 

”Everything that has happend has been for a reason, is that not what you’ve always said?” he asks her, voice silky and faraway. He is detached, in control again.

 

She sobs quietly.

 

”Sebastian still refuses to see anyone, after all, she was his twin. They must have been so close.”

 

”Hmm, who are you talking about?” he asks, sounding curious.

 

Olivia takes off her mourning shroud, and for the first time since he stepped into the room, she looks more than just sad.

 

”Feste, who is dead?” she asks him. It sounds like a test. She is toying with him, isn’t she?

 

”You’re only trying to play a game with me.”

 

She grabs his hand in her black gloved one, in an almost crushing hold. She shakes her head.

 

”No, Feste. I want you to say it. I want you to tell me.”

 

* * *

He returns to the tavern as the sun is setting, casting a sick yellow color over the city square, and its humid and too hot, and he can’t find enough air. No matter how deep he breathes, his lungs itch and sting.

 

He eats dinner. He sings for the tavern guests – the bar keep doesn’t approach him this time. Maybe he’s scared. He still doesn’t remember what happened the other night. Not after he’d been lied to. He doesn’t like liers.

 

So he sings, and it eases something in his chest, for a little while.

 

Next morning, he doesnt go to Lady Olivia. He is going to make a visit to duke Orsinos castle, and maybe get a short interlude with the duchess. Not that he is planning to sleep with her again, not if she still presists upon the silly idea of love.

 

He stops walking as he nears the gate. A familiar child is blocking his path, holding a ball close to his chest and there’s a black ribbon tied to his left arm.

 

He’s familiar because he was apart of a dream. No, a nightmare. Come to think of it, he’s been having nothing but nightmares since he returned to the city. Maybe it’s the drinking. He’ll stop. Viola doesn't want to kiss someone with ale on their breath, he knows how particular she can be. 

 

But when he gets there, he doesn’t find what he is looking for.

 

He searches the gardens – that’s one of her favorite places, yes, and she would hide there so Orsino couldn’t find her and Feste was the only one who knew.

But she isn’t there, the grass is dewy and the air is just cold, bitter cold.

 

He looks in the kitchens, in the attic, and even in the large ballroom. Every place, every room carries her scent, but she is nowhere to be seen.

 

He stumbles upon a maid carrying laundry, who yelps at the sight of him. He ignores her and heads straight for the master bedroom.

 

She is hiding there, he is sure of it.

 

”Wait, sir! You can’t go in there!” the maid is yelling after him but he doesnt pay it any mind. He walks into the familiar space, and if he was still in his right mind he’d notice that the room was bare of any personal possessions, that someone had been there recently to collect and remove something.

 

But he relaxes because the bed is still there. And so, Viola must still be there, underneath the covers. She must be.

 

He rips off the deep crimson throw quilt that covers the bed, stares at the crisp white sheets. His black eyes roam the bed, as if she could be hiding between the tiny folds of satin. 

 

”Who are you searching for?”'

The maid has followed him inside, somewhere behind him. 

 

”The lady of this house. I’ve been looking for her all morning. Could you tell me where to find her?”

 

”Why, the cemetary sir. The family tomb.”

* * *

He doesnt remember how he gets there. Perhaps he was running, because when he sees the cemetary gates, his breath is rushed and heaving. Images of her face has been flashing before his eyes, and he nearly vomits beside the gate.

 

But then it passes, and he pulls himself upright. She’s here, that’s all that matters.

 

It doesn’t take long to find the tomb. He has been here before, drinking alone and sitting amongst the dead.

 

He finds her name etched onto a lid on the marble floor. _Oh, this would horrify her if she knew_ – that there is already a grave here with her name on it. He scoffs at it and makes for the door, to leave. But then he breathes in sharply, and he walks back to the lid, leaning down and hissing at it.

 

”This has been a fine trick, but it can stop now. I’m impressed, now get up from there. ”

 

When nothing happens, he licks his lips and quickly adds:

 

”If I had known that you were such a vengeful little minx, I would never have gone in the first place. Now do as you are told and stop this. ”

 

Nothing. Everything in here is still and quiet. The lid of the grave remains shut. It’s taunting him.

 

Its telling him to open it up and see. It’s daring him to check. It’s daring him to realize that-

 

Gasping, he covers his face with his hands. They feel wet when they make impact, due to the tears that are not his. He cannot let them see. The dead are looking at him. His mouth twists into a painful grimace before he wipes the hands over his face, and when he removes them his face is once again normal. His grin is sure and easy, his eyes too bright. He must preform.

* * *

He sits by her grave for a long time. Pretends like she can hear him.

 

He knows.

 

And yet, he doesnt care.

 

He cups a hand to the lid and listens after her soft breath, which he will hear it any minute now.

 


End file.
